


you’re in my heart, you’re in my soul

by merrywil



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Fluff and Angst, M/M, seriously lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrywil/pseuds/merrywil
Summary: What do you do when the person who matters most to you is dying?  Illyana watches Stephen struggle with the answer to that question.  Established Wongrange.
Relationships: Stephen Strange/Wong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	you’re in my heart, you’re in my soul

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy. This is like...pure fluff and angst. The fic equivalent of dessert. If you eat too much, you make yourself a little sick. But sometimes you can’t help it. Warning: very, very brief mention of thoughts of suicide.

Illyana Rasputin was starting to get a little frustrated. Maybe a little worried, too. But she was trying very hard not to think about that. With a slight huff, she slammed the great, leather-bound tome shut. A plume of dust shot into the air, and the book seemed to shudder in indignation.

Illyana threw a guilty look over her shoulder out of reflex. If Master Wong had seen her treat one of his precious charges so callously, she’d be the recipient of a disapproving stare, and a brief but stern reminder to be more mindful of her emotions. Fortunately, there was no one to have seen her lapse, but she somehow felt the disappointment no less sharply. Perhaps this was a special kind of magic that Master Wong wielded.

With a sigh, Illyana scrubbed a hand over her face, pushing a few strands of hair behind her ear. She was never going to get anything accomplished at this rate. But it was difficult to focus, with no updates as to what was happening, half a world away.

It hadn’t sounded all that worrisome, at first. A few sorcerers at the Hong Kong Sanctum had fallen ill after a trip to one of the less commonly visited dimensions. Although most extraterrestrial (and extradimensional) illnesses didn’t find humans a compatible host, it happened occasionally. But even then, it was rarely a serious matter. The sorcerers had been transferred to Kamar-Taj’s healing wing for care. Master Strange had mentioned it to Master Wong in passing at breakfast one morning.

But this time, it did turn out to be serious. Their first inkling that there was a problem occurred when one of the healers attending the ill sorcerers had himself fallen sick. The second occurred when one of the original patients slipped into a coma. But what sent the community of practitioners worldwide into a tizzy was when they realized that the illness fed on magic.

Kamar-Taj had been placed under quarantine. Although not before Master Strange and Master Wong had very solemnly sat her down and informed her that she was temporarily in charge of the New York Sanctum, and that they would be going to assist with the situation in Nepal. Master Strange was not the sort of Sorcerer Supreme to manage crises from a distance. And Illyana had overheard Master Wong tell him in no uncertain terms that ‘if you are going to be putting yourself in mortal peril, again, I’m coming with you.’

Hence Illyana’s current frustration. It had been almost 5 days with complete radio silence from her mentors, or anyone else at Kamar-Taj. As one of the most senior disciples, caring for the Sanctum was scarcely beyond her capabilities, at least on a good day. She had even ventured out into the city to help with a few cases of possession, an incursion of very large but also very alien sewer rats, and one attempted demon-summoning.

Illyana realized that her aimless wandering had led her into the kitchen. Mindlessly, she opened the refrigerator door, and surveyed the contents. She wasn’t particularly hungry. A small green tendril began to inch its way towards the open aperture, and Illyana let the door fall closed. Perhaps she would make tea instead.

The hissing sound of a portal nearly made her drop the tea kettle. Illyana whirled away from the stove, but her anticipation turned to confusion at the sight of the person stepping through the fiery circle.

“Master Hamir?”

“Illyana.” The venerable master--who Illyana had learned actually had a delightful sense of humor, and a soft spot for initiates--nodded in greeting. “I need you to come with me. Taner,” and Illyana realized one of her fellow disciples had stepped through the portal on Master Hamir’s heels, “will stay to guard the Sanctum.”

“Yes, Master Hamir.”

Illyana had a thousand questions. She assumed from the glimpse of the courtyard visible through Master Hamir’s portal that the quarantine on Kamar-Taj had been lifted. But it was very odd that neither Master Strange nor Master Wong was returning to resume supervision of the Sanctum, even if Illyana herself needed to go to the compound for some reason. And what reason could that possibly be, anyways?

Master Hamir was silent as he turned to step back through the portal, and Illyana felt it snap closed behind her as her sneakers met the timeworn stones. She bit her tongue, but only with the greatest of effort.

“I am sure that Wong would be pleased with your patience, but I know you must wish for answers. We are going to the healing wing, where the first task will be to immunize you against the illness. It took a great deal of effort and study, but they were able to identify a spell that prevents one from contracting the disease.”

“Oh! That’s a good thing, yes?”

“Very good.” Master Hamir nodded, but his tone remained serious. They were nearing the healing wing, and the older sorcerer suddenly stopped. He turned to face her, and Illyana could feel his eyes searching her face. His next words were solemn, but his tone was not unkind.

“Illyana, I am sorry. I know that Stephen and Wong have been mentors of yours for some time. We were able to find protection *against* the illness, but no way to cure those already ill. Most of those originally affected have...died. A few have recovered. The rest remain in quite a serious state.”

Illyana didn’t want to hear any of this. She definitely did not want to hear what Master Hamir was going to say next. She had already lost so many things. Everything, she had once thought. But then the mystic arts (and two sorcerers in particular) had taken her under their wing. And she had realized that family did not have to mean only those tied to you by blood.

Perhaps to Master Hamir it might seem cold, but Illyana had learned long ago to face her fear head on, without flinching. At least, on the outside. 

“Are they dead?” One eyebrow raised in bemusement at her blunt response, but the master shook his head in the negative. So there was still hope.

“Then tell me. Please.” Master Hamir sighed, and resumed walking. Wordlessly, he held open the door to the healing wing.

The healing wing was rarely completely quiet. Everyday sounds might include the scratch of an apprentice’s pen against paper, or the quiet clicking of computer keys. The low murmur of conversation between a healer and their patient, or the soft grind of mortar against pestle.

But today, Illyana was greeted with a veritable cacophony. Sounds were still muted here, somehow. But there was the no-nonsense slap of shoes against stone, and rapidfire exchanges about patient status. Illyana was struck that there were fewer healers present than she might expect, given the number of beds that were occupied. But fewer hands meant more work for those who were left.

“Ah, Illyana. Thank you, Hamir. I’ll take care of things from here.” Master Grannus looked frazzled, which was was a sight that Illyana had rarely seen. 

Master Hamir smiled at Illyana encouragingly. And then he was gone, with a brief dip of his head to acknowledge the other master’s words. Illyana watched him go, until the healer’s brisk tone drew her attention back to the task at hand.

“Stand still, please.” Her hands were already raised, orange fire flickering at her fingertips. “You may feel a bit tired after. I would suggest rest, but we need all the hands we can get, if you are not needed back at the Sanctum.”

Illyana watched as the net of light arced over her head, and floated gently *through her* towards the ground. “Taner has taken over, Master Grannus. Tell me what to do. Although…” here she trailed off, hesitating. Was it her place to ask?

“Although would I mind if you see Stephen and Wong first?” The older sorcerer chuckled softly at her incredulity. “No, I don’t read minds. Just faces, and yours was quite obvious, young one. Come with me.”

Illyana followed the healer to the back corner of the ward, the soft moans from the beds they passed assailing her ears. “Wong fell ill first. Stephen was more...dramatic, unsurprisingly. Scared half of us to death, collapsing in the middle of the floor.” Master Grannus’s tone grew more serious, as she drew to a halt between two beds. “Unfortunately, neither has woken up for the past day.”

Master Wong was quiet, his hands folded on his chest and eyes closed. It might almost have looked like he was sleeping, save for the pallor of his skin and his almost unnatural stillness. Master Strange was more fitful, his cheeks flushed and damp hair plastered to his forehead. Looking at her mentors, Illyana felt an odd but entirely unpleasant tightness clench around her chest.

Unable to look away, she spoke to the healer who still stood at her side. “You have duties for me to see to, Master Grannus?”

The sympathy in the master’s voice did not ease the tightness, although she felt that perhaps it was meant to. “Yes. Follow me.”

\--

It was hours later that Illyana found herself again between the two beds. She had found a chair in a corner, and physically dragged it over the worn stone floor to rest between them. She was too tired even to use magic to lift it, and knew that she should find a room in which to sleep. But although her eyes felt as though they were filled with sand, Illyana knew sleep would not come. Not when she had spent an afternoon amongst people who she passed in the hall or ate meals with, lying ill and dying.

Illyana didn’t know how long she had sat, staring vaguely into space, when she sensed a change in one of the men before her. She straightened, watching as Master Strange’s restlessness grew, his head tossing back and forth on the thin pillow, eyelids twitching.

“Master Grannus? Anybody?” Illyana sent a quick glance over her shoulder, then leaned forwards. “Master Strange, can you hear me?”

“What’s going on, Illyana?” Master Grannus arrived at her side in a flurry of robes, still slightly frazzled but no less prompt than when Illyana had arrived hours earlier. Perhaps it was a special skill of healers.

“He seems less settled. Is something wrong?”

Master Grannus’s fingers wove a quick casting in the air above the other sorcerer, and she studied the sigils that flared to life above the bed. Then she smiled. “No, in fact the opposite. He’s waking up. His magic is growing stronger again, and the illness is waning.”

“Brigid? Illyana? What are you doing here?” 

Master Strange’s voice was hoarse, and so soft that Illyana could barely hear it, as close as she was sitting. His eyes blinked slowly, not quite tracking his surroundings, but they were open. Illyana felt the tightness around her chest threaten to burst, and to her own surprise blinked away the moisture that gathered at the corners of her eyes.

“She’s safe, Stephen. We finished the vaccine.”

“I knew you would. Cure?” Master Grannus seemed to understand his question, although her mouth pinched at having to deliver the answer.

“Not yet.” Master Strange’s eyes slipped closed, and Illyana saw his jaw clench.

“How many?”

“Fourteen.”

“Damn it.” It was not often that Illyana heard either of her mentors swear, other than to the Vishanti, and the whispered curse almost made her jump. She did startle when Master’s Strange’s eyes snapped open again, pinning them both in place with the intensity of his stare.

“Wong?”

Master Grannus hesitated, eyes flitting to the bed behind them. “He’s...alive, Stephen.”

“But getting worse.” His tone was flat, almost entirely devoid of emotion.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Master Strange nodded, and Master Grannus inclined her head slightly at his whispered ‘thank you.’ Then he turned his head towards the window, and closed his eyes, although Illyana could tell he had not fallen asleep again. She felt Master Grannus’s hand settle comfortingly on her shoulder, as she wrapped both of her arms around herself and resumed her vigil.

\--

Stephen waited until Illyana had gone before he opened his eyes. He actually thought he might have dozed off again, as much as he fought doing so. He sensed her hesitate briefly, as if to speak, but he held his breathing steady until he felt nothing but emptiness where she had sat.

If he had to guess, he thought it might be early evening. His internal clock was entirely out of sorts, and the shutters were already closed. But there was enough activity to preclude it being terribly late at night, although fortunately no one seemed close enough to notice what he was about to do.

Stephen took a deep breath. Essentially, everything hurt. Not just his hands were shaking when he used the bedframe to reach an unsteady vertical. At the corner of his vision, he caught a glimpse of scarlet.

“Either help, or keep your disapproval to yourself.” But his words held no bite, in part because none of this was the Cloak’s fault, and in part because moving and speaking simultaneously left him breathless. 

Stephen made it to Illyana’s erstwhile chair without assistance, but had to lean forwards until the black spots left his vision. A swift glance revealed that no one had yet noticed his foray. Good. With fingers that trembled more than usual, he reached out. One hand loosely folded around one of Wong’s, where it still lay against his slowly rising-and-falling chest. The other brushed gently against the fine stubble covering one of the man’s cheeks. Wong would not be pleased. Stephen imagined that aesthetics were hardly a priority in the chaos of the past few days.

Just as gently, he reached out with his magic, assessing with more than physical sight. Where Wong’s aura usually pulsed a rich crimson, strong and unwavering, there was mostly darkness. Some faintly glowing embers struggled to hold on, here and there. But Brigid had been right. He was dying.

Damn it all to Hell. And he had been to Hell, so he meant that literally. Stephen didn’t quite know what he and Wong were, what this thing was that they had. Wong kept him steady. Everything that the Ancient One had said about Mordo was true for Wong as well. But unlike Mordo, Wong had stayed.

They were certainly friends. People would say they were more than that, although Stephen hated when people used that description. Friendship was just one type of love, not a lesser form. And yes, of course sometimes they argued. Stephen was especially prone to losing his temper. But they worked through it, and were stronger for their ability to do so.

Stephen sat back, although his hand did not leave Wong’s. There was a way. Maybe the only way. But it sat a little too close to playing God for his liking. As a surgeon, it would have made him balk, even with the praise he would have reaped for working a miracle.

But as a...best friend? Lover? Partner? He couldn’t help himself. Stephen had always held to his morality. Morality was one of, if not the only, truly good defining character traits of humanity. And yet he was only human, only a flesh-and-blood mortal, after all. He wasn’t losing the one person who meant more to him than anything else. And this time, there was no one to sacrifice but himself.

Closing his eyes, Stephen felt his way towards his center. Then he reached for his magic.

\--

Illyana walked through the door of the healing wing, and froze. Compared to earlier in the day, there were few people moving about the ward. Even the occupants of its beds were quieter. The room was cast into shadow, dimly flickering braziers the major source of illumination.

Well, besides the form of the Sorcerer Supreme, who was levitating about a foot above the chair in which Illyana had previously sat. A faintly glowing nimbus of eldritch energy surrounded the man’s form, funnelling down into a gleaming umbilicus that seemed to feed into Master Wong’s chest, directly above his heart. Master Strange’s eyes were closed, but as Illyana watched, they opened, shining bright with either fever or tears.

“Master Strange! What are you doing?” Illyana launched herself forwards, apprehension making her heart race.

Her mentor’s smile was bittersweet. “He doesn’t have enough energy to fight this. So I’m letting him use mine. Tell him I’m sorry, Illyana. But at least he’ll be alive to hate me.”

As Illyana covered the last few meters to Master Wong’s bedside, the magical tether between the two sorcerers seemed to fade away. Master Strange slowly unfolded himself from his unconventional seat, standing for a moment and gazing down upon the form of the man before him. Illyana skidded to a halt, freezing for a moment at the eerie tableau.

Then Master Strange simply collapsed, crashing to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Illyana scrambled forwards. The Cloak beat her, slipping beneath its Chosen to cradle his head and shoulders, almost tenderly. Illyana heard a flurry of activity from the other side of the room. No doubt they had made enough noise in the past few moments to arouse someone’s interest.

“Oh, not again. Stephen, I’m going to have your relic tie you to the bed next time.” But the muttered threats sent Illyana’s heart soaring. The healers would know what to do, how to fix this.

“Master Grannus! I came in, and Master Strange was...giving Master Wong some of his magic? And then he stopped, and…” Illyana gestured helplessly at the scene before them.

Master Grannus waved a hand through the air, but with far more purpose. For a moment, she considered the incandescent sigils that floated above her colleague, before shaking her head. He mouth was pressed into a grim line.

“Not quite, Illyana. He didn’t just share energy. He still is. There’s a connection that ties their auras--their souls if you believe in that--together, and I don’t think it’s a temporary one.”

Before them, still cradled by the Cloak, Master Strange tossed fretfully. Illyana could feel the heat that again radiated from him.

“But that means, if Master Wong dies?” Illyana trailed off, her heart sinking towards the floor.

“Then Stephen dies, too. They’re in this together now. And we can’t do anything except pray, to whatever deity you believe in.”

\--

For the second time in what had become a very long day, Illyana found herself ensconced in the not-particularly-comfortable wooden chair. Actually, thinking about it, she wasn’t quite certain whether it was even the same day as when she had left the Sanctum. Futilely, she wished she could turn back time, to when she did not know what awaited her at Kamar-Taj and her only concern was what to make for dinner.

But the past could not be changed, and Illyana had learned that lesson all too well. She rested her elbows on her knees, and settled her chin in her hands. For a moment she considered the men before her. Both were resting quietly, at least. 

Illyana still could not entirely wrap her head around what Master Strange had done. It was no secret that her two mentors were very close friends. Illyana wondered what it would be like, to have a friend willing to sacrifice their life for you. She hoped that someday she might find out.

She wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but the sound of birdsong and the tolling of prayer bells had not yet heralded the dawn when Master Wong began to stir. The librarian could barely lift his head, but his eyes when they opened were lucid. Illyana felt a weight that she realized had not been present vanish from her chest, and she leaned forward excitedly.

“Master Wong?”

“Illyana?” Then his eyes fluttered closed, and his face drew into a frown. “Stephen Strange, what did you do?”

Illyana thought she heard her mentor mutter something along the lines of ‘you are an idiot,’ but she couldn’t be quite sure. She threw a quick glance towards the source of Master Wong’s consternation. Master Strange was finally quiet, although he looked exhausted. Dark shadows bruised the skin under his eyes, and he slept the motionless sleep of those who have no reserves left. The Cloak was tucked securely around his slumbering form.

“Master, please don’t be too angry with him,” Illyana pleaded, the memory of her other mentor’s desperation flashing before her eyes. “He was terrified.” She paused. “We all were.”

Master Wong sighed, and Illyana felt the weight settle again within her chest. “I know, Illyana. I know.”

Somehow, Illyana recognized with an irrevocable certainty that they were at a tipping point, and things would never be able to return to where they had been before. The question, she now wondered, was which path the future would follow.

\--

Stephen watched as the butterfly settled on a twig, black and yellow wings fluttering against the verdant green of the bush’s leaves. There had been a time when he had found a great deal of symbolism in the tiny insects, bursting as they did from their chrysalises to begin life anew.

The Cloak tightened around his shoulders, but he shook his head in answer to its silent question. It was a beautiful warm day, one of the last days of summer that bore just the hint of an autumn briskness in the air. And he was recovered enough that he could sit outside and enjoy the sun for a little longer.

Whether it was the fact that he had the nine lives of a proverbial cat, or that the Vishanti pitied fools and children, his stunt had not killed him. It had certainly been more than a momentary worry when he actually attempted the energy transfer. Serendipitously, the healers had taken their cue from his folly, although their approach had been more rational and less risky. Energy transfer from multiple healers at one time had been enough to prevent further casualties, until the illness had run its course in the remaining patients.

That had certainly been welcome news, when he finally woke up. He had taken his reprimand from Brigid Grannus with due contrition, and had been pleasantly surprised by Illyana’s enthusiastic bear hug. He had even restrained himself from chuckling at her chagrin when she backed away afterwards, eyes downcast and trainer awkwardly toeing the floor.

But the one person that he had hoped to see hadn’t been there, and his heart had sunk when he woke to the sight of an empty bed next to him. Brigid had reassured him that Wong was fine. But that only meant that the librarian did not want to see Stephen, and that hurt even more. Not that Stephen could blame him. He had acted without Wong’s consent, and would count himself lucky if his friend ever spoke to him again.

The butterfly flapped its wings hesitantly, its tiny legs propelling it cautiously along the twig. Then it burst into the air, spiralling upwards from the tiny garden. Stephen felt the Cloak’s collar perk to attention. Moments later, he heard the steady tread of footsteps. For a moment, Stephen wished that he too could take flight. He sighed. Better to get this over with.

Stephen felt the wood of the bench creak slightly, as his companion took a seat. But he did not turn his head. An awkward silence filled the warm air, stark contrast to their usual easy camaraderie. The late summer afternoon suddenly felt less warm. Finally, he could wait no longer.

“Wong, I…”

“Stephen…”

They both fell silent, and Stephen snuck a glance to his right. Wong’s face gave away nothing, as solemn and imposing as when he had paced through the ranks of novices at Kamar-Taj, when Stephen could summon nothing more than sparks. Wong raised a hand slightly, a gesture of invitation. With a grimace, Stephen forged ahead, before his courage could falter.

“Wong, I’m sorry. What I did was wrong. I violated your right to choose, and now you’re stuck with this...connection.” With his own vague wave of a hand, Stephen indicated the tether that still united them, quiescent but not severed. He took a deep breath. “I understand if you never want to see me again. If you want me...gone.”

The Cloak brushed against the back of his hand, reassuring. At least he still had one friend. Absently, he added, “I’m relatively certain that my death will destroy the link, at least.”

Stephen felt Wong stiffen next to him, and with a surge of defiance, he rushed to finish. “I would still do it again. That I cannot, will not apologize for. But I am sorry that I had to, and understand your anger.”

Stephen grit his teeth, surprised to find his chest heaving. He felt utterly drained, and there was an ache behind his sternum that made him want to curl up in a dark room and not come out for a week.

“Stephen.” Wong’s voice was steady. “I am upset, but not angry. Well,” Stephen braced himself, feeling the ache in his hands as they unconsciously tightened on the edge of the bench. “I am angry that you just suggested taking your own life. We are going to discuss that.”

“But,” the other sorcerer continued, his tone never wavering. “I cannot blame you for making the decision that you did, regardless of the morality of that choice. The truth is, I would do the same, were our positions reversed. And I suspect, for exactly the same reasons.”

Stephen felt his throat close, and his eyes prick with tears that he rapidly blinked away. Damned sunlight. He felt Wong’s arm settle around his shoulders, and the weight that had taken up residence in his chest when he had first awoken to that empty bed finally seemed to lift. He shifted on the bench to give the other man a slightly lopsided smile. Wong’s face was impassive as ever, except his eyes. Those were smiling, too. And if Stephen concentrated, he could feel the dizzying warmth of Wong’s regard through the magic that reached between their souls.

Impulsively, Stephen lifted a hand. In for a penny, in for a pound. Sparks traced the outline of a portal far too small for a human to step through. Wong raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Stephen reached into the space, a glimpse of night sky and galaxies wheeling inside the impossible aperture. When he opened his palm, two simple brass rings glinted in the sunlight.

“You don’t want to see me try to get down on one knee. But will you consider making it official?”

“More official than our life forces being bonded?”

“Umm, more ceremonially official?”

Wong huffed, but his hand settled around Stephen’s, steadying it. “Yes. But you must be the one to tell Illyana. She has already hugged me once this week.”

\--

So Stephen did. And she did. But she hugged Wong as well, and he did not mind much at all.

FINIS 


End file.
